


X-Men: Among Thieves

by RedGold



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Adventure, F/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, World Travelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:50:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedGold/pseuds/RedGold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Xavier and Magneto have long gone their separate ways in their belief of human/mutant relations and now each vies to build a group of special individuals who would do either great good, or great harm, to the world once the truth about mutants gets out. But what about those who fall in between?</p><p>Remy LeBeau, sometimes called Le Diable Blanc, often referred to as Gambit, is a card hustling, smooth talking New Orleans native with a tortured past that would make Shakespeare proud. The woman known only as Rogue has possibly the most powerful mutant gift of all, the ability to absorb other mutant's powers and memories, but the demons in her closet are much more real than imagined.</p><p>Thrown together by fate, their attempt to solve a mystery will take them across the world, deeper into their pasts, and closer to each other… if it doesn't kill them first. In the end, they must follow the first rule of thieving: Only take what you can steal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rogue

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first X-Men fan fiction and was posted on FanFiction.net back in 2012. I'm going to be uploading it here with edits to grammar mostly, some content as well.
> 
> The story assumes a divergent timeline after First Class came out but this was written before Days of Future Past came out. It's basically my hopes for a dream Gambit/Rogue movie that we will never see.

**_Rogue_ **

A beat up Olds drives by a two story house, the driver taking a second to admire the structure. Not as classy as the homes back in Mississippi but a decent interpretation of the plantation style. What's advantageous is that each residence had a fair amount of yardage between them.

Distance meant silence, stealth. Her mother taught her that.

Eighteen year old Anna Marie pulled the stolen vehicle into a small park down the road. Fall temperatures in upstate New York keep most people away from the picnic tables and children's playground. Good, it would be awhile before anyone realized the car was abandoned there. Hopefully she'd make it back before anyone thought to call the police.

Not bothering to lock the car, Anna Marie slid her hoodie up like she was a jogger and set out to take in a nice run. One that ended at _her_ house.

Anna Marie set a decent pace, not wanting to stand out. That was the key to deception: act like you belong and others will believe it. More than once on the sidewalk she passed the signs of a normal family life. Bikes in the yard, toys strung about. Even a mother pulling her baby girl from the back of the car as her husband toted bags from the trunk. All the things that could never really be hers.

Finally, as her chest was burning, Anna Marie made it to the house whose address she spent months hunting down.

 _She_ was a stupid woman, trying to live a normal life in a normal house in the normal upper-class suburbs. All Anna Marie needed to do was find the right people with the right information: a name and an address. Almost too easy.

Kicking up off the curb Anna Marie headed towards the back yard. A wooden fence blocked access but the gate wasn't locked, only closed from behind. After whole lot of attempting to look like she belonged and she slipped inside. She gave quick look back to make sure no one saw her. It was three o'clock on a Thursday, normal people should be at work or getting ready to pick up their kids from school.

The back door was locked, that was too be expected. Hang around enough with her mother's friends and one does learn all manner of useful trades like lock picking. It wasn't her strongest skill but she knew enough to get around a simple dead bolt.

Now, a security system, that's a whole other kettle of fish.

Some family's had board games, Rubik cubes, toys that weren't illegal in all fifty states, but not Anna Marie's. Popping the cover off the control panel as it beeped its one minute warning she found what she was looking for, a hardware connection port. Slipping the small device out of her hoodie's front pocket she plugged it in and hit a button. A few breathless seconds later the beeping stopped and returned to armed mode.

It wasn't the most sophisticated alarm system on the market but then a woman like Carol Danvers didn't exactly need help against possible intruders. A member of the US Air Force, Danvers would have had her fair share of combat training, but that was simply a fine tuning of her pre-existing abilities. Talent's that Anna Marie had seen firsthand, the day that Danvers murdered her mother.

Of course, at the time Anna Marie didn't know who the tall blonde woman was who had flew away from the scene of the crime… but all it took was the right minds to get into…

Now that she was in the murderer's home with time to spare she looked around at the décor. Modern with just a hint of rustic, a fully equipped kitchen leading into a dining area with a long wood table, a pot of fresh flowers sitting on top. In the corner of the forward sitting room sat a piano though Anna Marie doubted that Danvers played, the item was for show. It's what normal people have, it's what normal people do.

Anna Marie and Carol Danvers were not normal people.

Photos lined across the piano, mostly of Danvers with family, friends. One caught Anna Marie's eye, a smiling Danvers with her bright blonde hair wild in the wind. Next to her sat an only slightly amused but balding man in a wheelchair. Could he have been the one ultimately behind her mother's death?

A crack and a pop later glass from the frame tinkled onto the ivory's. Anna Marie found a place to hide and waited to find out.

…

It had been a long day, as always, and Carol sometimes wished she didn't have to hide her abilities from the world. It would make life so much easier. For the time being though, it was best if she did, for everyone involved.

Tucking a bag of groceries under her arm, Carol left her car in the driveway because she had turned her garage into a work room, who didn't? It wasn't your average work space seeing as she knew things about the government, the military, and certain special humans. She was one of those beings and she felt it was her duty to help others like her, to make sure that once the truth became known that everyone would be able to live in peace.

She sighed as she opened the front door, it was a good dream. One that seemed farther and farther away each day.

On autopilot she tapped at the beeping alarm box and crossed the sitting area to put the groceries on the table. Seconds later she realized that something was off but what? Turning back she scanned the room, everything looked in place… except…

Carol went to the piano and picked up the picture of herself and Professor Xavier, her friend and colleague in the mutant community. The glass was gone and there were marks on the picture where the shards had scraped the image as they fell. She knew she hadn't done this which only meant one thing…

Spinning on her heels she crouched just a bit, ready for whatever attack was to come. But there was no bruiser coming after her, no manic mercenary, just a girl, barely an adult, standing at the entrance of the sitting room.

"You're Raven Darkhölme's girl," Carol uttered when recognition set in. It was the hair, a white streak on dark red, very distinguishable.

The sour look on the young woman's face worsened, "Now yah care about my mother's family," the girl drawled in a southern accent, "didn't really think about that when yah collapsed a building on her."

Carol's jaw tightened a bit. "How did you find me?"

The girl began to tug off the wool gloves she wore. "Just had ta talk to the right people."

Memories came back to Carol, rumors of what Raven's adopted daughter was capable of. "Listen, she was going to hurt a lot of people, she didn't exactly give me a choice."

"Yah always have a choice!" she screamed, her body trembling in anger. "Those people hated us, they'd exterminate our kind if given tha choice. They didn't deserve to be spared."

"Is that what you believe, young one?" Carol frowned, of course it was, it’s what her mother taught her. "Killing them only makes us just as guilty of bigotry, we are better than that."

"We _are_ better than them." The young woman took a step forward. "Yah may have killed her, but who sent you? Who told yah about the plan!"

"No one." Carol shook her head. "I work for the Air Force. I was already on the base when I realized what she was up to."

"Mother had a lot of enemies," the girl's eyes flickered to the broken photo still in her hand, "am I really to believe she was taken down by chance?"

Sighing, the blonde wasn't sure what to do, the girl was upset but dangerous, and so was Carol. "A body was never found."

"She nevah came home!" she screamed again, tears trickling from the edges of her eyes.

There was a very distinct chance that Raven Darkhölme simply abandoned her adopted daughter. It would be in her character from what Carol learned of the shape changing woman. But in the young red head's highly upset state, it wasn't something Carol wanted to simply blurt out. "I'm sorry, why don't we sit down and talk about all this."

"No," the dark red head dropped her gloves and pushed up her sleeves, "you're going to tell me who sent yah to take out mother, one way or another."

"You don't want to do this." Carol held up her hands as the girl stepped closer. "I don't want to hurt you."

"More than yah already have?" she smirked and darted forward.

Carol immediately dodged, her feet lifting from the ground as she got out of the way, ducking to the left, the hallway to her back. If she was right about what the girl could do with her hands, she needed to stay clear.

"What do you hope to gain," Carol was getting short tempered, and stayed up about a foot above the ground, ready to dodge again, "you can’t fight me."

"You're right." The girl was hunched over, breathing sharply, hands around her stomach.

It hadn't occurred to Carol that a young woman like Raven's daughter would have access to stun grenades, but in hindsight she really should have known better. The redhead threw the device underhanded from her pitched over position, not at Carol, but past her, into the hallway. It went by so fast Carol wasn't sure what it was until it exploded, sending out a shock of light and sound than knocked her to the ground.

"Gotcha," the girl breathed, wrapping her bare arm around her neck. Not enough to actually cut off any airflow or be dangerous… only touch flesh to flesh.

It was a sickly feeling, a wooziness, and she knew the rumors were true. The girl was draining her energy, absorbing her abilities, taking in her memories. She wanted so much to give into the encroaching darkness…

No, she wasn't going to have any of it. Reaching up, Carol grabbed the woman's arm and tugged her forward, both of them falling to the floor. Flight wasn't her only gift, she had the strength of at least ten men and she fastened tight on the girl.

"Let go!" the red head shouted and the words echoed through Carol's mind as they hit the carpet. Her mind went fuzzy, there was a reason for not touching the girl… right?

Instinct kicked in as the attacker tried to peel Carol's fingers from her flesh and the military officer grabbed the woman's wrist, flinging her to the side, pinning her to the ground. Darkness encroached on her senses but she was not about to be beaten.

Soon, she didn't have a choice.

…

No, no, no, they usually pass out by now, fall from her arms. It's just enough time to take what she needed and they get away relatively unscathed when they wake up.

"Let go!" Anna Marie shouted as they both fell. She had already held onto the woman longer than she would have liked. Memories flooding into her mind, overwhelming her.

Tugging at the woman's grasp Danvers latched onto her other hand and exacerbated the issue. Next thing Anna Marie was pinned down, more and more of Danvers' psyche flooded into her… along with the blonde mutant's powers.

With her newfound strength, Anna Marie tossed Danvers away from her, finally, but the contact went on too long, more than she ever touched anyone. Anna Marie laid on the floor, breathless, reliving a life that wasn't hers…

…

Carol Danvers stood, a headache screaming through her head. What was she just doing?

Groceries, right. She headed into the dining room and the bag had toppled over spilling out some of its contents. Staring oddly at a broken chair she tried to remember why this was strange.

Picking up the bag and all its contents, Carol went into the kitchen and sat them on the island. One by one she put the items away into their proper place. There was no room on the bottom shelf for the box of cereal so she lifted herself up a bit, just enough to reach the upper shelves. Who needs ladders when you can fly?

As she did this she set some water to boil for a cup of tea. She always preferred a cup of tea after a long day of work, it helped her to unwind.

The kettle whistled right as she finished in the refrigerator, perfect timing. Grabbing a cup from the cupboard, she poured the hot liquid over a teabag and waited for the herbs to seep into the water. She liked to sit in front of the fire place on a day like today, just calm and relaxed in front of a crackling fire. Tea in hand she headed for the sitting room…

The cup fell from Carol's hand, nearly missing the wooden divide between sitting room and dining room to land on the carpet and not break.

Carol stared down at her own body lying prone on the floor.

That's when she remembered…

Pain shattering her head, Anna Marie did as she was taught and pushed the memories of Carol Danvers back into the corner recesses of her mind. The psyche of Danvers screamed and fought but in the end it was Anna Marie's body, her thoughts, she had home court advantage.

In a panic, Anna Marie snatched up her gloves, quickly slipping them on in ease from years of practice, and leaned over the downed woman. It's hard to find a pulse through gloves but she wasn't looking to check Danvers' blood pressure, just make sure she was still alive. The blonde's chest rose and fell evenly, naturally, and that was a good sign.

Standing back up she didn't know what to do. Her mother was gone. Danvers hadn't been lying, she could see from the stolen memories that it had been pure chance Danvers caught on to her mother's deception. Now the blonde woman was out cold with a distinct possibility of never waking up again.

Anna Marie ran to the phone on the kitchen wall and snatched it up, quickly hitting 911. Dropping the receiver to the ground it wouldn't take long for dispatch to figure out who was calling and send out a patrol call. It was a trifle act after what had just happened, but it was the only one she could make. There was no reverse switch on her powers.

Running out the back door, Anna Marie started to feel sick, not sure where to turn or what to do. Her mother was gone and the Brotherhood was basically disbanded in the wake of her disappearance. Anna Marie's feet lifted from the ground unnaturally and almost sent her spinning.

What did her mother always say, control, the power is yours, push the emotion aside and take control. A deep breath later and Anna Marie continued to rise smoothly into the sky. High above Carol Danvers house with no home of her own to speak of, Anna Marie realized she had only one option, become a rogue agent in the ever increasingly dangerous world of human/mutant relations.

How convenient… since the world only knew her as _Rogue_.


	2. Gambit

_Latvia – Eight Years Later_

"Remy," the sharply dressed man with a neatly coifed haircut and cheap six hundred dollar suit asked casually, "have I told you in the last ten minutes how much I hate you?"

There was a chuckle from the slightly disheveled man standing at his back. "Yes you have, mon ami."

"Good." Jacob resisted the urge to straighten his tie. He could feel it was crooked and if he was going to die today then he would do so without a single hair or piece of cloth out of place.

"Search 'em," barked one of the fifteen security men, mercenaries more likely. They currently had Jacob surrounded in the courtyard his friend had lead them into after the handoff did not go as planned. Each of the dangerous looking men had assault rifles drawn, not a sight the courier considered pleasant at all.

"Watch the suit," Jacob grumbled as he was given a rough pat down. The merc wouldn't find anything, Jacob never carried a weapon and why would he? He was the essence of neutrality. It was the man standing behind Jacob that was questionable on a good day.

A bruiser with a badly set nose held Jacob's briefcase in his hand. "Locked."

"We'll take care of that later," said the leader, his weapon trained on the bigger threat.

Jacob's merc finished patting him down. "This one's clean."

"This one has something up his sleeve," another spoke and the courier tried to hide a smirk.

"What?" the lead merc just had to ask, didn't he.

"Cards," the man responded, a likely confused look evident in his voice. "They aren't even high cards."

"Dey for a magic trick, mon ami," his friend said lightly, "wanna see?"

They should say no, they should always say no, but no one could ever resist.

The neatly dressed man risked turning his head to look over his shoulder as his Cajun companion flipped two cards between his fingers expertly as if they were coins. An eight and a nine, these lackeys were clearly only worth a three and four.

There was a sizzle, a sound Jacob knew well from his long friendship with the man, and it was his cue… to drop into the fetal position and stay out of the way.

Jacob Gavin Jr was not a coward, he stood tall in front of dictators, sycophants, and lawyers, but his strength came from his complete removal from the situations he found himself in. He was a courier, _the_ Courier. You needed a message or item delivered safely and securely between friends or enemies without even a hint of reproach, you called him.

You wanted something stolen… with style… then you called his friend, Remy LaBeau. Of course, this meant that the Cajun thief got himself out of a jam with equal panache.

Jacob squatted, not wanting to get dirt on his suit, after all it may be cheap but he loved the pin striping on it. He held his hands over his head to protect himself as LaBeau's biochemically charged playing cards hit their marks, exploding with kinetic energy thanks to his mutant abilities. Watching the feet of the men around him, four went immediately down as another was slammed against a wall of bodies.

A couple of mercs managed to get shots off but Jacob had no doubt they missed their target. LeBeau must have gotten his Bo staff back, a walking cane that extended into a full quarter-staff, and there was a brush of air as his friend vaulted over him, taking out two with a kinetically charged kick.

The Louisiana native laughed. "Mind if I have dat back?"

There was a thud and the quick patter of combat boots on stone. Jacob thought it might be over, but one never presents themselves as a target until they are sure they won't get shot.

"All clear, mon ami," his friend was decidedly cheery, his Cajun accent always a little thicker in his jubilance.

Giving it a second, Jacob stood and brushed down his clothes, taking in the sight before him. Fourteen mercenaries laid unconscious on the ground around them. A few had charred breast plates but most were simply knocked out by LeBeau's quick and powerful punches. All would recover, it wasn't the Cajun's style to do more than lay a man out in a fight.

Remy LeBeau didn't look like he should always end up on the winning side of a bar brawl, his slightly taller than average height and medium built lent itself to more of a lover than a fighter. LeBeau fancied himself both. Born with an angel's smile and the devil's eyes, they say the New Orleans native is the greatest thief in the world. _Le Diable Blanc_ he's been called, "The White Devil", but due to his affinity of playing big and far from safe, those who knew him best tended to call him _Gambit_.

"You enjoyed that," Jacob admonished, finally able to fix his tie.

"Dey started it." Gambit shrugged, retracting his staff and dusting off his trench coat.

One of the mercs groaned and Jacob didn't exactly panic but assess the situation. "We should get to the airport."

"Aye, mon ami," LeBeau grabbed the fallen briefcase and the two of them headed out of the courtyard.

Grabbing a taxi, their original transport having been disabled, Jacob called ahead to make sure his jet was ready to take off as soon as they were on board. The two managed to reach the plane without being followed, well, that Remy could tell and Jacob was apt to trust his friend on such matters. Both quickly rushed on board and the steward closed the door behind them.

"Are we all clear?" Jacob asked as he moved to the forward sitting area, meeting the co-pilot halfway.

"A runway's been left open for us," said the man, an elder balding gentlemen with a sharp disposition.

"Are we cleared through customs?" the Courier turned back to the steward, Mr. Winlet.

"We were never here, sir," the equally sharp man answered. Jacob could not abide sloppiness.

"Good," he nodded appreciatively, "then we best be off."

"Very good, sir." The co-pilot moved back towards the cockpit and Jacob handed his briefcase over to Winlet who would stow it safely until they landed. Trust was another absolute requirement of any member of his staff.

Jacob collapsed into a seat, his stewardess immediately offering him a gin and selzter. "Thank you, Leena." He took the glass gratefully. LeBeau may have done all the work but just watching his kinetically charged friend wore him out.

"And you, sir." Leena, a bright girl gifted with long legs and long blonde hair, moved to serve LeBeau a scotch and whiskey. Her tone was decidedly different towards the Cajun.

"Why, thank you, cheri." LeBeau's deep-red colored irises sparkled at the girl and she practically swooned as he lifted his drink from the platter.

"Oh, I kept it safe for you." Leena leaned across the Cajun to reach a soft brown fedora to match the trench he favored wearing. The fedora happened to be strategically placed just behind the thief and the stewardess afforded both men a nice view as she fetched it.

"Much obliged." LeBeau winked as he took it gently from her hands and flipped it back onto his tousled brown locks.

At first glance Remy LeBeau looked like a man just kicked out of a bar after a fight, which, honestly, did happen a lot to the Cajun. He tended to wear a brown suit, the trench and hat, but usually a bright silk shirt, purple or blue, all kind of thrown together.

But there was nothing haphazard about his friend. While he might not tuck in the shirt or get a decent haircut, the clothes fit him perfectly, his permanent scruffy chin always trim. Even his hair was organized chaos. He was the most well put together ruffian on either side of the Mississippi.

Remy LeBeau was a walking contradiction and sadly, that's likely what charmed women the most.

"Leena, you should get ready for takeoff," the steward called from the rear cabin before Leena had a chance to fall into LeBeau's lap and possibly stay there for the rest of the trip.

At least the girl knew her duty and immediately straightened herself and headed to her takeoff position. Though she did give a back glance at the Cajun, who of course gave her another wink and smile.

Jacob sighed, sipping at his drink. "You're incorrigible my friend."

LeBeau simply grinned, shrugged, then relaxed into his seat. It was an hour later when Jacob was on the plane's satellite phone when the thief pulled the item from somewhere deep in his jacket and began to unconsciously flip it through his hands.

The Cajun thief wasn't ever far from a deck of cards, whether he was winning at a game of poker or charging them into weapons. But this card was difference, special, old, worn at the edges and ever so crinkled. It was years after their friendship started that the thief even felt comfortable enough to let Jacob know of its existence. Not that LeBeau actually mentioned it outright, simply felt no need to hide it. One day Jacob was going to ask his friend why that card, the King of Hearts, was so important. He doubted the man would give him a straight answer.

The Courier knew Gambit for almost ten years now… but he barely knew his friend at all. He was sure that was exactly how the mutant thief liked to keep things.

…

A limousine greeted them at the Parisan airport and quickly trekked them through the City of Lights, in the middle of the day. Still pretty though.

They pulled up to the Hotel Regina and Jacob let LeBeau exit first, the man scanning for more threats. Instead the Cajun threw a smile at two women who were waiting for their bags to be loaded into a car. Jacob gathered the coast was clear and joined his friend on the curb, briefcase in hand.

Within minutes they were ushered by guards to a fifth floor suite. A dark skinned Italian in a suit slightly cheaper than Jacob's sat waiting for them.

"Ah, so it is done?" the Italian spoke in pretty decent, if accented, English.

"Signore." Jacob nodded politely, flashing a grin that while not as disarming as his friends, had been known to get him places. The Courier sat the briefcase down on the table and turned it towards the client, popping the lock so he could open it in one smooth gesture. LeBeau wasn't the only one who knew the value of style.

"Ah, good work," the Italian grinned, running his hands over whatever was inside. The contents were none of Jacob's business. LeBeau had already placed it in the briefcase before they met up and he had enough faith in his friend not to double cross him.

An awkward moment passed as the Italian enjoyed the sight of what was in the briefcase a little too much. Eventually he cleared his throat and closed the top. A snap of his fingers and one of the guards moved forward to collect the case and take it away, likely to be placed in a safe.

"I heard there were trouble, no?" the client asked.

"Nothing I couldn't handle," LeBeau answered casually, leaning on his cane as if he was Fred Astaire.

"There was fighting, explosions," the Italian gestured in the air, "the theft, it was noisy, it did not go unnoticed."

"Signore," the Cajun accent made the word sound funny, "you paid me to steal for you, never said anything about how quiet it had to be done."

"If I may," Jacob held up his hand, diplomacy was his strongest skill, most days, "you hired Mr. LeBeau to… procure an item for you any way he could. I was then to deliver it safely here to you. Those were the only stipulations and both were met."

LeBeau let out a little chuckle, that tended to worry Jacob in situations like this. "Dem last guards where da fifth batch and spoke mighty fine English of da American variety. Military drop outs the lot of dem, says mercenaries to me. I'm betting our Italian friend here knew dere was extra security at the villa, dat it wouldn't be an easy score."

The Italian played a good bluff, but Jacob and LeBeau's were better. "Yes, well, I was told it could be… complicated."

"You must have figured on more dan just complicated," the thief never broke eye contact with anyone in the room, a remarkable feat in and of itself, "cause you could have called on da Thieves Guild, but instead you asked for lit'l ol' Remy LeBeau."

"Yes," the Italian said in frustration, "the greatest thief in the world they say you are, yet, what did your own Guild do to you, exclude you? Um, Ostracate?"

"Castrate?" Jacob suggested cheerfully earning a dirty look from the Cajun.

"Excommunicate be da word you're looking for." LeBeau was not amused.

"Yes, that," the client rubbed his chin in thought, "now, why would a Guild excommunicate their most valuable member, I wonder?"

LeBeau's trademark smile came back to his lips, "I imagine I deserved it."

"Yes," the word trailed off but the Italian was smart enough to know that he had gotten as far as he would in this line of discussion. Jacob hadn't gotten much father himself. The Italian then waved at a guard who pulled a folded over manila envelope from his breast pocket and handed it to LeBeau. 

"Courier," the client said, "your money will be wired to your account momentarily for your part in getting my… 'trinket' to me. LeBeau, liquid assets, as you requested."

LeBeau took the offered item and weighed it in his hand, checking the balance. With a satisfied shrug he slipped it into his trench's inside pocket without counting the contents. The Italian looked like he was about to question the move but then shrugged his head.

To be honest, the money could have been short a million dollars and LeBeau might not have cared, well, not that much anyway. Jacob figured out long ago that it was never about the money.

…

"Will you be staying in Parie', mon ami?" LeBeau asked as they exited the Hotel and waited for the limo to be pulled around.

"I have three courier assignments lined up for the end of the day, my friend." Jacob slid his phone into his pocket. "You're welcome to catch a ride to New York, avoid immigration and customs authorities. InterPol is still looking for you."

"Always are," LeBeau shrugged, the limo finally being pulled around, "but I enjoy da challenge."

"Suit yourself, Remy," Jacob turned and offered the man his hand. The two gripped at almost the elbow and nodded to each other. "Try to stay out of trouble, would you?"

"Why don't you try to get into some," he bantered back, "aye, mon ami?"

Jacob shook his head and released his grip, life was definitely more interesting with Remy LeBeau around. "Vous voyez autour de, friend."

The driver of the limo opened the door to the rear passenger's seat but before Jacob could take a step closer, the steward from the plane stepped out. "Begging your pardon, sir."

"Yes, Winlet?" This was only a tad peculiar.

"Package arrived for you at the airport through the courier service," he held up a folded letter of thick parchment, "actually, it’s for Mr. LeBeau and I thought it best to bring it around in case the gentleman would not be joining you."

LeBeau leaned slightly forward, an almost kiddish move. Though, LeBeau never seemed much able to sit still. Jacob gathered it had something to do with the mutant's access to potential kinetic energies. "For moi?"

Sure enough, Remy LeBeau was written in strong penmanship via a classic fountain pen across the top of the parchment. Where the paper folded over it was sealed by wax with a very familiar emblem.

"That's the seal of the New Orleans Thieves Guild," Jacob said as LeBeau took the item and proceeded to look it over, test it for, what, traps, before he was going to open it. "How was this contracted?"

"Regular contract, standard rates," the steward answered.

"Probably didn't even know we were working together," Jacob mused, "easiest commission I ever made."

LeBeau was ignoring him, slicing open the seal with his thumb. Laws of civility, and a dose of curiosity, kept Jacob in his spot until the man read the short letter. True to the thief's nature, his expression never changed nor showed any emotion regarding the contents.

"Mon ami?" LeBeau asked when he was done. "Mind dropping me off in London, if not out of your way."

The Courier thought about it for a moment, then sighed. "Sure, why not, but I'm not your taxi service."

"Of course, mon ami." Lebeau’s smile was entirely too broad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courier's first line of dialogue was stolen, erm, borrowed, from the comics because it was just too perfect.


End file.
